The Sanctum of the Sphere: The Benevolence Archives, Vol. 2

by Luther M. Siler

  “So you admit opening the box,” the dwarf said.

  “We just said that. We admit the box being busted,” Brazel snapped. “I told you that. But what you’re seeing there is everything that was in it.”

  The elf took the statue from the box, peering at it carefully. Xe ignored the guns and the datachips altogether.

  “Do you know what that is?” said Smashes-the-Stars.

  The elf shook xir head, then pointed at Brazel and Grond, turning xir hand in a circle at the wrist and then pointing at the sky.

  “What? No,” Smashes-the-Stars said. “That wasn’t the plan.”

  The elf turned and stared, repeating the gesture. “We go. Now.” Xir voice was deep, almost as rough as the dwarf’s.

  Smashes-the-Stars spent a few moments staring at Brazel. The gnome stood his ground, not breaking eye contact.

  “Well, if the elf says you’re coming with us, you’re coming with us. We have to go.”

  “Not without paying us,” Brazel said.

  “I wasn’t paying you anyway,” Smashes-the-Stars said. “That’s happening through a third party. You should have known that already.”

  Right, Brazel thought.

  “But I’m not authorizing payment right now anyway, because this isn’t what we hired you to steal,” she continued.

  “Fuck that,” Brazel said. “You said to steal a marked wooden crate. That marked wooden crate is in pieces all over the ground in front of you. That was our end of the deal. There was nothing anywhere about verifying the contents. There’s something extra in there. So what?”

  The dwarf waved one hand, dismissing Brazel’s arguments, tugging on her beard with the other in what looked like an unconscious stress gesture.

  “We don’t have time for this. When I said we had to go I meant all of us. The job didn’t go like it was supposed to and the agent never told us something had gone wrong, so we have to assume this entire job is blown. You want to get paid? You need to come along until we figure out what happened.”

  Brazel glanced at Grond, reading his partner’s mind. This was what they’d wanted, technically. It was just more of the dwarves’ idea than they’d wanted it to be. Meeting higher-ups in the Malevolence hierarchy was probably going to mean more jobs and more money, at least if it didn’t involve being immediately killed.

  “I’m not leaving my ship,” Brazel said.

  The dwarf opened his mouth to protest and closed it again when the elf laid a hand on her shoulder. The two shared a long look, with neither speaking. She shook her head. “Fine. But the elf’s going with you. Xe knows where to go.”

  Brazel and Grond exchanged a glance. Grond’s look said I don’t like this at all. Brazel’s said I like this even less than that.

  “Elf have a name?” Brazel said.

  “No,” Smashes-the-Stars said. “At least not that you get to hear yet. You can just call xir the elf until you earn a name.”

  The elf crouched over the statue, brushing it with one hand. Xe started murmuring under xir breath, and a bright blue glow extended from xir hand, encompassing the statue entirely.

  Grond took two steps back and drew Angela’s bowstring. Brazel suddenly had guns in both hands: One trained on the elf, the other on Whisper-on-the-Waters. Grond could hear Namey’s external guns whirring into position.

  “The elf’s Benevolence,” Brazel said. “Xe just cast a fucking spell.”

  “Calm the fuck down,” Smashes-the-Stars said. “Yeah. Xe cast a spell. Not on you. Xe just put that fucking thing you brought us into stasis. If it’s sending a signal–even if it’s somehow sending one you can’t detect–it can hardly keep doing it when the entire device is frozen, now, can it?”

  This was a little difficult to argue with, given that the statue was actually sending out a signal.

  “Braze, can you still hear it?”

  Brazel’s ears swiveled toward the statue. Obligingly, a deep silence fell over the spaceport.

  “Not a thing,” he said. “The elf stays in a berth in the cargo bay. Locked.”

  The elf stood up. “You don’t really think a locked door will hold me.”

  “Probably not,” Brazel said. “But you’re going to stay in there anyway. And no more fucking magic.”

  The elf nodded, picking the statue up. Xe nodded at the males, who scurried to pick up everything else.

  “We should go now,” Smashes-the-Stars said. “The elf will give you coordinates once we’re both a few hours of tunnelspace away. Pick a direction, but I wouldn’t travel back toward home.”

  “Comforting,” Brazel said.

  The elf strode onto the Nameless as if xe owned it, the statue balanced on one hip as xe walked.

  “We’ll explain later,” Smashes-the-Stars said, backing toward the bay exit. “Right now we need to leave.” She turned on one heel and all but ran out of the bay, Whisper-on-the-Waters following. The male dwarves scurried to pick up the crate and hurried after her.

  “I guess we’re done here, then,” Grond said.

  “Sounds like,” Brazel said. “Why isn’t anything ever easy?”

  “Because you’d be bored to death if it was,” Grond answered. “Let’s take their advice and get the hell out of here. I feel the need to be standing on something with a proper name.”

  Interlude 1

  Then

  He was awakened by the sound of his mother’s voice. The words were indistinct—hushed, and on the other side of a wall—but the tone came through clearly. Pain, with no small amount of anger behind it, poorly controlled. The young ogre rolled out of bed, stretching his arm underneath the frame to recover his spear. The weapon had been his since he’d been large enough to hold it and he had been punished more than once for allowing it to be out of his immediate sight.

  He stretched, working the kinks of the night’s sleep out of his muscles, listening intently to the conversation in the other room. He heard his father’s voice, and a third who he did not recognize. It was not, he realized, the voice of an ogre. There was a musicality to the voice, a cultured affectation that was entirely unlike any of the adults his family shared a housing complex with on Tromaxis. There was a deep chill to the air, and he fought off the urge to bury himself among the pile of rags and furs he used as bedding again. The heaters got knocked offline again, he thought. Tromaxis was barely above freezing on its warmest day, being too far from its sun to gain any real benefit from it. And it was not summer. His breath was visible, if just barely. He would have to help his father with repairs again. He did not look forward to the chore.

  But he was an ogre, and while he was far from coming into his growth, standing barely taller than a gnome, he was to be a warrior. Ogre warriors did not complain about cold no matter how much their skin pebbled in the temperature. He looked around his room, noting that his brothers and sisters were gone. He had slept through their morning movements, somehow. He was surprised he had been allowed to stay in bed.

  He left his room, entering their common room. His parents and his siblings were all there already, along with one person he didn’t recognize. A human or an elf, he thought. He had never seen anyone of either species. This person looked like an elf, but he was … well, he was a he, and elves were supposed to be genderless. The stranger looked wealthy, wearing fine clothes and with glittering beads worked into his hair. He saw the boy as he entered the room, and raised an eyebrow, looking at him like one might look at livestock.

  The young ogre rapped his spear once on the floor, letting his family know he had entered the room. He had not yet reached his nameday and as such was not supposed to speak in the presence of strangers. Everyone turned to look at him. One of his sisters choked back a sob.

  His father had his guns with him, a pair of antique pistols. What is happening?

  “Twenty-seven,” the elf said. “He is less robust than you’d described.”

  The look of sudden rage on his father’s face was unmistakable, and several sets of eyes in the room began
to glow red. The elf was unperturbed.

  “There are other families,” he said. “Families with fewer mouths to feed, and better reasons to leave this frozen wasteland behind. The decision is yours to make, but make it now. Twenty-seven.”

  His father and mother exchanged a look. Everyone else in the room stared at their feet.

  “Come, boy,” his father rumbled. The red was gone from his eyes. He reached out a large hand, taking the spear from the confused youth.

  And with two swift movements, broke it twice over his knee.

  There were gasps from his brothers and sisters. The young ogre made no sound, his eyes wide and shocked.

  “This is Bountiful,” his father said. “You are his now. We reject you.”

  Bountiful gestured.

  “Time to go, boy,” he said. And then, to his parents: “What is his name?”

  “He has no name,” his father said. “He has not reached his nameday yet. And now he never will. You may name him yourself, if you like.”

  The door opened, and another ogre entered the room. This one was clearly a warrior, his body slabs of hard muscle held together by sinews and scars. He was in the prime of his might, and was larger even than the boy’s father. He carried a gun at his hip and an enormous sword on his back.

  “K’Shorr,” Bountiful said. “Our negotiation is concluded. Pay these … people their agreed-upon price, and bring the boy with you. He will need a name.” The elf swept from the room, his clothes flowing around him.

  “How much?” K’Shorr said.

  “Thirty,” his father said.

  Without a word, K’Shorr drew his gun and shot him in the knee. The ogre fell heavily to the floor, screaming from the pain. The boy, numb, made no move.

  If I still had my spear, I could fight.

  His brothers and sisters leapt to their feet, roaring, and his mother rushed to his father’s side.

  No.

  None of these people were his family any more. He had been sold.

  K’Shorr grabbed one of his brothers, twisting his arm painfully behind his back and throwing him into a corner of the room. He managed to do it without taking his gun off the boy’s father.

  “Nothing stupid, now,” he said. “Papa just tried to lie to me, so he earned that. I was just outside the room, you morons. Be glad I left him a fucking leg.”

  He held up a pouch, shaking it to show it was full of coin. He dropped it on the floor. It landed with a thud.

  “C’mon, kid,” he said. “Don’t make me take you. Your family just put me into a bad mood.”

  The boy walked to K’Shorr’s side. He spoke no word to his former family. Ogres before their nameday were not to speak in the presence of strangers, and he had nothing but strangers left in the world any longer.

  “Pleasure doing business,” the ogre said. He took both of his father’s guns and then ushered the boy out of the room.

  Bountiful remained in the hallway.

  “I had hoped you would not have to injure anyone,” the elf said placidly. He turned to leave, walking swiftly through the corridor outside the private apartments.

  “These icecube-dwellers don’t know what’s good for them,” K’Shorr answered. “One of them made bad decisions.”

  “And you paid them every cent of what they were owed, as I told you,” Bountiful said.

  “Sure,” K’Shorr said. “Less an ammo fee, maybe. And the guns were just a bonus.”

  Bountiful sighed heavily.

  “How long until his nameday?”

  K’Shorr looked him over carefully. “Dunno. He looks pretty close.”

  “Name him, then,” the elf said. “I have little patience with these ogrish rituals, and we have acquired too many today to call him the boy.”

  K’Shorr stopped, grabbing him by the chin and staring into his eyes.

  “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? Or you’re gonna be. Not a tear from you in there, even when I shot your dad. You did better than your brothers and sisters. You need a warrior’s name. Something short.”

  The young ogre did not speak. This person was not family.

  K’Shorr looked at Bountiful.

  “Call him Grond,” he said.

  Nine

  The elf had already ensconced xirself in a berth, sitting cross-legged on the floor with xir eyes closed. The door to the berth was wide open, the contents inside rearranged to provide room to sit. The door had been locked when they’d walked off the ship.

  Xe had maybe a minute or two, Grond thought. Whoever the elf was, xe was impressive.

  “Namey, head … hell, head somewhere. Head for ogrespace, but nowhere in particular,” Brazel said.

  “What about Kratuul?” Grond suggested.

  Brazel groaned. Kratuul was a humid jungle toilet of a planet and one of his least favorite places.

  “Kratuul’s on the border,” Brazel said. “Too close to gnomespace. I want something more central.”

  COURSE SET, Namey said, and Brazel felt the Nameless lifting off from the port.

  “Do your best to avoid anything else that flies, too,” Brazel said. “Don’t be too obvious about it, but keep your distance from everybody.”

  UNDERSTOOD, the boat replied. FLY CASUAL. ANY INSTRUCTIONS ABOUT OUR PASSENGER?

  “None that aren’t obvious,” Brazel said. “I suspect the elf’s going to do what xe wants–I’m locking xir back in the berth anyway. If anything at all happens out of the ordinary, let us know.” The gnome paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m going to get some sleep. Smashes-the-Stars as much as told us we had four or five hours of inactivity headed our way. May as well take advantage of it.”

  “May want to let Rhundi know the schedule’s changed,” Grond said.

  “That too,” the gnome agreed, heading to his quarters.

  “So how bad is it?” was how his wife started the conversation.

  “Complicated,” Brazel said. “The short version: We’ve got a passenger on board. An elf. Who locked xirself in one of the cargo holds without being asked to. Cast a spell on that statue, so xe may be Benevolence. Or, and this is a weird position to be in, we could hope xe’s Malevolence. And Namey’s headed to ogrespace right now, but that’s not our final destination. Go ahead, ask me what our final destination is.”

  “You don’t know what your final destination is, do you?”

  “Your keen insight is the reason I married you,” Brazel said.

  “Also, pregnant,” Rhundi added.

  “We didn’t know that yet,” Brazel said.

  “I did.”

  “I didn’t, which means we didn’t. Shuddup.”

  “You may as well start with what happened.”

  “Right.” Brazel filled Rhundi in on the events of the last several hours.

  “I’m not terribly happy about any of that,” she said.

  “Neither are we,” Brazel said, “but if you can see where we had a better choice, I’d love to hear it.”

  “You didn’t,” she said. “Well, okay, I can probably count on the two of you and the ship to have won a firefight against two dwarves, a couple of porters and the elf, but that burns some contacts I don’t really want burned and the choice you made is probably better.”

  “I didn’t even bother arguing about it,” Brazel said. “Any updates on your end at all?”

  “Not much,” Rhundi said. “Irtuus-bon is throwing everything he can at the data. So far, no luck. And Haakoro’s behaving. He went out and got himself cleaned up but other than that he’s holed up in his room watching videos and listening to music and ordering a lot of food.” She paused, and Brazel could hear a smile in her voice. “A lot of food. He should be three times his size.”

  “So nothing’s changed.”

  “Well, I do have something interesting for you. I talked with him a bit about where he got the encrypted data and the statue from. You won’t believe the story he told me.”

  “Do tell,” Brazel said.

  “Well, apparen
tly he was approached by a female halfogre who sold him the statue and the data. She didn’t tell him what either of them were, but said that they’d be well worth his money once everything was decrypted. He doesn’t know what either of them are, though. And he’s still insisting he’s lost contact with his handlers.”

  Brazel raised an eye.

  “That’s what he said? Really?”

  “That’s what he said,” Rhundi confirmed.

  “I have some issues with that story,” Brazel said.

  “As do I,” Rhundi said. “So right now we really don’t know what we’re dealing with. Go ahead and leave the statue where it was and see how the Mals react. But don’t mention the extra data without a good reason unless Irtuus-bon gets back to me with something.”

  “Got it,” Brazel said.

  “You know what clan the elf’s with?”

  “I’m guessing unaffiliated,” he responded. “Renegade, probably. Xe knows at least a little bit of magic and clearly wants to be thought of as extremely dangerous. Don’t really know anything, though. Right now xe’s said a grand total of maybe one sentence to us. We don’t even have a name, so clan information isn’t gonna be forthcoming anytime soon. Nobody disagreed when Grond said they were Mals. I haven’t had much dealing with them since that thing with Shocks-the-Mountains, but none of them survived that. I don’t see any reason why they’d be mad at us.”

  “I’ll get Irtuus-bon digging into the elf,” Rhundi said. “You never know, xe might be a known associate of somebody or another. Keep me posted if you’re able to find out anything else.”

  “Always,” Brazel said. “Tell the kids I remember all their names.” He cut the connection.

  Grond considered returning to his quarters, then decided not to, remaining in the bay with the elf instead. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew xir from somewhere, and he had not known many elves in his life. Placing this one should not have been that complicated.

  “You were very young, when last I saw you,” the elf said.

  “Mind-reading, too?”

  The elf opened xir eyes, staring at him. “Intuition. You presumably have many things you could be doing, and the gnome told you that you were facing several hours of down time. Yet you stand here, staring at me, instead of attending to your tasks. Sexual attraction seems unlikely, given who we are. I can only believe you are struggling to recall where you have met me.”